


Pandoran Paradox

by sifshadowheart



Series: Prologue Crossover Challenge [4]
Category: Avatar (2009), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, May End Up M/M/M, Mpreg, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-09-23 02:42:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9637370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifshadowheart/pseuds/sifshadowheart
Summary: Death offers his Master a way to escape from the forces controlling him in the wizarding world only for Harry to land in another universe on a planet that is possibly even more dangerous than his own.





	1. Prologue

** Pandoran Paradox **

**A Harry Potter/Avatar Crossover**

**_Author’s Note: :_ ** _This is number four of the many crossovers I managed to make happen from the same prologue challenge.  Please don’t send me messages or write reviews pointing out that it’s *gasp* almost the same as the others.  I know.  That’s kinda the entire point of the challenge._

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Avatar are both the properties of their respective owners and no profit was made by the writer of this fanfiction.

**Prologue:**

**A Very Harry Happening**

“Please tell me I’m actually dead this time.”

Harry’s voice came out in a deadpan as he opened his eyes in an all-too-familiar location.

He hadn’t been back to Platform 9 ¾ since leaving for his final (eighth) year of Hogwarts.

There was no need, as he had neither friends at the ancient school nor any children to send off.  Though he supposed Teddy was almost there, but it wasn’t yet September and that nightmare of first-year anxiety was months away.  Andromeda would handle most of it, as she’d done with the rest of the day-to-day of raising his godson/her grandson.  But Harry would still be the one the young Lupin would lean on for those first-day jitters.

Well.

He would have been.

But being a Hit Wizard wasn’t exactly all sunshine and roses, and Harry had already beaten the odds more than once.

Moreover, he’d recognized that sickly-purple spell the newest wave of wizarding-cult-followers had shot at him.  Hell.  He’d used the _Sectumsempra_ more than once in the line of duty.

He’d felt it hit across his upper chest and neck.

He’d felt himself get cold and his vision – finally corrected after reaching his majority and being able to request and pay for the expensive potion – fade out.

Harry had died.

Again.

Though maybe this time it would take, even if it would leave behind a grieving Teddy.

Harry didn’t try and fool himself.

After he’d thrown off everyone’s expectations, taking up his seats in the Wizengamot and going after his Inheritance that everyone had somehow neglected to mention *cough, Dumbledore, cough, Weasleys, cough*, not many people would miss him other than his godson.

He imagined that even Andromeda, stern matriarch that she was, would only miss having his support and more importantly his name to throw around, more than him himself.

No.

Going back to Hogwarts, not what the Ministry wanted or the public expected, but still within the “allowable” realm of behavior.

Accepting all his vaults, his titles, and his responsibilities, well, it wasn’t what anyone wanted for him, per se, but it wasn’t beyond the pale either.

It was when he entered Hit Wizard training instead of Auror Academy that people started to twitch.

Harry was already considered volatile, powerful, and somewhat dangerous.

Joining the ranks of witches and wizards who were the Wizarding World’s version of Special Forces crossed with MI6…that started up a tone of concern, though it was levied in part that as a Hit Wizard he was ostensibly under the aegis of the Ministry and all-was-still-well.

It was also the first real strike against the tidy “plan” that had been set in motion for his life, ever since he was born and likely before he was even conceived.

The Wizarding World liked things neat and tidy in their little labeled boxes.

Potters were Aurors.

Malfoys were Politicians.

Blacks were eccentric (or flat-out crazy) Nobles.

And so on, into infinity.

But Harry bucked centuries of tradition and went into the more dangerous field of being a Hit Wizard, which carried with it a ten-year expiration date: either you died before then (which was ninety percent of them) or you retired and either taught the oncoming young-bloods or transferred into the DMLE either as an administrator of some kind or as an Auror.

Harry’s ten-year mark was coming up soon, and he’d made it despite curses, hexes, vampires (and wasn’t that a fun case…) and now this new muggleborn-driven cult that wanted, irony of ironies, to tear down the Statute of Secrecy and usher in a world where wizard kind were benign rulers.

This shit just never ended.

It simply changed faces.

He could almost hear Tom laughing from the gates of Hell where he was no doubt waiting for Harry to show up.

Harry had no illusions about himself.  Not anymore.  He might’ve made a middling-to-good godfather when he wasn’t dodging curses or blood-sucking-fiends, but he also killed his first man at the age of eleven and thereafter never really…stopped.

Oh, there were lulls, and sometimes it was creatures that he ended up ending instead of people, but it was as if once his heart got a taste of death it never forgot it – or how easy it was to dole it out.

He had a survival instinct that was, even he could admit, second to none, surviving things that would have killed anyone else.

And this time that survival instinct was screaming at him that he’d finally failed to listen to it in time.

Most of all…Harry was just tired.

Not so much of his job, he’d been damn good as a Hit Wizard, nor of his role as godfather though he was glad that he’d got to at least spend the last ten years with Teddy.

But tired, oh yes, he was tired of other things.

Tired of the expectations of him to finally “settle down” with an appropriate Alpha and start popping out litters of cubs, especially with his retirement from active duty Hit Wizard coming up.

Tired of having to explain, again, that no, he wasn’t interested in Ginny for the five-thousandth-time when he went to the Burrow for Sunday dinner.

Tired of Hermione trying to use him name and influence to direct the Wizarding World.

Tired of Ron trying to use their shared adventures to advance his Auror career.

Tired of being seen as everyone’s favorite bankroll, after all, it wasn’t like he had any family to spend his galleons on, Harry.

Just tired of all the bullshit.

And now, unless this was a potions-induced psychotropic trip, he could finally rest.

Sighing, he blinked his eyes in the wake of the glowing-white-haze the Platform was covered in and wearily climbed to his feet, absently noticing that like his previous visit he was wearing the same clothes as he remembered before taking the death-blow but clean, though this time it was his Hit Wizard wear of gunmetal-grey Horntail dragonhide trousers, boots, and gloves matched with a goblin-forged steel-mail undershirt topping a soft cotton undervest and topped in turn by a wool long-sleeved tunic in dove grey, a basilisk-hide sleeveless dueling robe that had a hood and dropped to the top of his knee-high boots thrown over it all.  On the left side of his tunic was his rank as a Hit Wizard, no surprise that after nearly a decade in the field, it was of a Field Commander, the words embroidered in the same venom-green of his basilisk robe, with his call sign: Jag, under it and the nine gunmetal-grey stars that signified each year of service.

His wand was missing from Horntail-hide holster on his right arm, having been dropped when he, well, died, but he felt the comforting weight of his favorite knife still tucked inside his left boot.

“Sorry, son.”  He heard from behind him the voice was soothing and gentle but with an underlying rasp, Harry turning to face the speaker, one he didn’t think he’d ever met before in his life…unlike last time.  “But far be it for Death to forsake His Master in such a way.”

“Merlin.”  He cursed, rubbing at his tired emerald green eyes.  “For once I wish it wasn’t me.”

Harry eyed the other man – if a man at all was what the other figure was.  He was…utterly normal in just about every way.  Harry knew operatives on the muggle side of things that would kill to have his seeming blandness, that ability to be everyone and no one all at once.  Grey hair, a sober face that was handsome but not overly or memorably so, soft grey eyes, and dressed in a muggle suit in black with a mandarin collar, there was nothing remarkable about him not his looks, his middling height, nothing.

Nothing at all, save his voice that had a resonance that struck at the very heart of Harry.

“But it is you.”  Death said, folding his hands elegantly before him, watching Harry with a sort of paternal pride and care.  “You are the last of the Peverells, the last of my chosen Wizards.  You collected all my Hallows, and yet never sought them.  And you who cast them away, breaking and burning the wand, turning the stone to powder, only keeping the last, the Cloak that was handed down from father-to-son, for your own.”  There was no mistaking it, Death was proud of him.  Proud and entertained, unless Harry’s instincts were off.  “There is no other I would have ever chosen – nor did I, when I gave the Three my Gifts and sent them out into the world.  I always knew it would be you, Harry.  And I’m very glad it was.”

“Omniscience…great.”  Harry said with a sigh, barely holding in an eye roll.  He was tempted to give into sarcasm but had enough self-preservation, even while mostly-dead, to refrain in the presence of a deity…of some kind.  “To recap: you met my ancestors, gave them the Hallows, all so that I would become your Master, which I never wanted to be in the first place.”  Harry held out his arms in a Here-I-Am gesture.  “Now what?”

“That is, for the first time,” Death gave him a gentle look of understanding.  “Entirely up to you, son.  Should you wish it you can return to your life, knowing that you are my Master and therefore will have a problem staying dead.  If you wish, you can summon the Hallows to you before you return.  Or you can choose to go on: either to your well-deserved rest having lived a half-life or…”

Harry knew he was going to regret this but his damned-infernal curiosity would torture him for ages if he didn’t do it.  “Or…?”

“You will never have the life you want, the life you were meant to have before Fate meddled with you, if you go back.”  Death looked unbearably pissed-off at the mention of Fate meddling.  Something to think on later, as well as what it implied about both entities? Deities?  Whatever.  A problem for another time.  “Nor can you remain in these Crossroads without becoming a wraith yourself, even the Master of Death is still human, and this is not a place for a soul such as yours.”

“Then I can go on.”  Harry said softly, voice wistful as he stared off at something only he could see.  He could almost hear the voices of his parents, of Sirius and Remus and even Severus, calling out to him.  “To my rest.”  The quirk of his lips was nothing short of bitter.  “I rather think I’ve earned that much.”

“Yes, I daresay you have.”  Death agreed easily with that much.  “You have single-handedly at times and jointly at others, saved no less than millions of lives, both magical and otherwise by your deeds.  You were a true hero in your life and have earned a hero’s rest.  However, there is another path that you might take.”  Death’s eyes gleamed with unearthly brightness for a moment.  “This is, after all, a Crossroads: there are more choices than merely forwards or back.”

“Such as?”

“I can return you to another time in your same world, with all your same knowledge and powers.”  Death waved his arms, and several trains pulled into the station, the first an inky black, the second a blinding white, the third a dove grey, and the last an emerald green.  “I can send you back to your life the very moment you were struck down, merely with a lesser wound, I can send you onwards to your rest, or,” Death’s smile was too toothsome to be comforting.  “I can send you to a place outside of the influences that have thus far guided your life.  The choice, my son, is up to you.”

“I know I don’t want to go back to the way things were.”  Harry admitted with a sigh, Death nodding and the white train disappearing.  “I’m tired of playing their hero.”  He thought for a moment and gave a sneer.  “And as tempting as it is to go back to another time in my own world, to change things, make them better,” he snorted.  “I’ve already bled enough for them; why should they have any more of me?”

“Why, indeed?”  Death asked lowly, waving an arm and the black train fading away.

Honestly, the deity hadn’t been sure if this Harry would choose to go back and “fix-it” as many other Harrys have.  After all, as quantum cosmology put it: everything that can happen will happen in opposite and parallel universes.  This is merely the first time this Harry has stood before him and they’ve had a version of this same conversation.

Though granted when you thought of it that way, this was the first time this Death has done so as well.

It was enough to give a deity a headache…if deities got headaches.

“Which only leaves the question:” Harry said to himself, staring at the two trains.  “Do I rest, or do I bite the apple that’s been offered to tempt me?”

“It isn’t poisoned; I can reassure you of that much.”  Death smirked.  “But neither is that choice without struggle or conflict.  Choosing to step outside of our influences will lose you your inability to stay dead for one: where you go I would not be able to extend my grasp.  But at the same time, Fate won’t be able to toy with you any longer: you will also be outside of Her reach.”

“What else can you tell me?”

“I can give you the information about that world you’ll need to survive the first thirty days.”  Death folded his arms in front of his chest, a knowing arch to his brow.  “Anything outside of that, you’ll have to bargain for: Death may be neutral, and you my Master, but there are rules to such things that even we cannot disobey.”

“You said I can summon the remains of the Hallows.”  Harry lit on what Death meant almost immediately.  “What can I ask for in exchange for returning them to you?”

“The Wand was a weapon to best all others, I can change you, help you _become_ a weapon.”  Death intoned solemnly, a chilling reverb in his voice.  “The Stone was designed to recall a loved one from Me: I can show you where something similar lies.  And the Cloak when mastered and used wisely could hide anyone from even Me: I can grant you the skill to do the same in your new home.”

“A weapon, a medium, and a skill.”  Harry summed up, turning it over and over in his mind.  “What about my other things?  Can I have any of them in my new life?”

“I cannot touch that that isn’t yours alone.”  Death said slowly, thinking of how best to word his answer.  “But there will be things I can send along with you as part of your ‘grace period’ as it were.”

“What isn’t mine alone…hmm…”  Harry pondered that.  “The contents of my trust vault and my personal work vault then.”  He decided fit the bill.  “Only in a bottomless trunk or bag from my vault and made into a form that won’t draw attention.  My clothes, say all my Hit Wizard uniforms save for my dress uniform that I’ll be buried in, and my boots.  My personal potions store.  Everything else I suppose all belongs to Teddy now…or was my own inheritance and not strictly mine.”

“It shall be as you ask, if a new home is the choice you make.”  Death agreed with a regal incline of his head.  “Save for things that cannot or will not function in your new home, that is.  There may be artefacts and the like that won’t work where you’re going.”

“I think we both know what I’ve decided.”  Harry drawled with a half-smile.  “I’m tired enough to want to rest, but still curious enough to take your bait.  Send me on: to a place where those that have influenced my life cannot touch me.”

“As you wish.”  Death nodded his head and the green train disappeared, leaving only the dove grey in its place to carry Harry onward.  “It shall be done: Master of Death.”  The deity looked far off for a moment and smoke and vapor started to climb from the engine’s smokestack.  “What shall your name be, Master, in your new life?”  He asked several moments later after Harry had carried through with his half of the bargain and summoned the Hallows, setting them down on the bench beside him.

“I’ve always wanted to be just Harry.”  The green-eyed wizard said with a little laugh.  “But unless I’m going back in time as well as far away, I don’t think that’ll cut it.”

“No, son.”  Death chuckled a little as he made several things materialize in his lean hands.  “It won’t.”

He handed the items over to Harry, rolling his eyes a bit at the vicious grin on Death’s face, Harry threw on the plain black canvas bag, likely containing the things he’d asked for that “belonged” to him, Death tapping the small pocket on the front of the bag.

“Inside you’ll find the directions to the medium…but be careful.”  Death warned.  “Read the information I’ve provided thoroughly before you go meddling with it.  You could easily lose yourself.  The other changes won’t take effect until you step out of the train and into your new life.”

“I understand.”  Harry nodded once, sharply.  “Will I understand the information with my current level of knowledge?”

“Once I’ve given you the information you’ll need to survive, you’ve been changed and assimilated your new skill-set: yes.”  Death smirked a little.  “Though I would wager that even without it you would’ve figured it out…in time.”

“Okay then…”  Harry shrugged.  “Anything else?”

“Just this.”  Quick as a viper, Death reached out and pressed the palm of one hand to Harry’s forehead.

The smaller figure screamed and writhed in place as information was literally shoved into his mind, tearing through his mental barriers like tinfoil and making his nose drip blood from the strain.

“Fuck!”  He cried out as Death finally let him loose, hunching over with his hands on his knees.  “What the fuck was that?!”

“That.”  Death answered dryly as he escorted Harry over to the open door of the waiting train.  “Was what you can call an information download.  Not pleasant in the least, but effective.  You’ll survive what’s coming now.”  He waved one hand to the open doors, beckoning Harry forward.  “Or at least, you should.  Meditate while you travel, especially on what you know of metamorphmagi, where you’re going is no little distance away…and you’ll need to be prepared for anything the moment you arrive.”

“Okay.”  Harry blew out a breath.  “Be prepared, survive, any other advice before we part ways, hopefully for a long, long time?”

“Just one:” Death said softly, the paternal mien returning.  “This life has taught you to block yourself off from others, to withhold your trust and guard your heart: and those were and are necessary skills for you to survive.  But.”  He held up a warning hand when Harry went to protest.  “But, there will come a time when you’ll need to trust to survive, and to open your heart if you want to live…and not just survive.”

Harry nodded, once, shortly, jaw clenched at the implied censure.

As if he hadn’t heard similar things before, most recently from Andromeda, over his shunning of Alphas and even Betas, who were brought to him in an attempt to matchmake.

“Harry Potter Black.”  He decided, ignoring the opportunity to respond to Death’s advice.  “That’ll be my name.  Harry P. Black.”

“Very well.”  Death nodded, the doors beginning to close.  “Your destination is a planet called Pandora, over a hundred years into the future.”

“Ok.”  Harry said stepped back before cocking his head and asking one last question: “Anything else?”

Death grin was borderline malicious as he answered, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the closing doors and the squeal of the train wheels.

“Don’t die!”

…

Harry laughed darkly as he settled into a compartment on the moving train.  The irony was, even he had to admit, rather wonderful.  He passed up a chance on his afterlife and gave up his not-dying-thing only to land in a place named Pandora, after the Greek goddess who unleased pain and suffering onto the mortal world.

It had a delicious sense of symmetrical macabre to it that he enjoyed, even as he wondered and worried about some of the things Death implied – or out-right stated about his “new world.”

No magic for one – or at least – not as he understood it.

He’d never been a metamorphmagus beyond a tiny ability to change – or keep from changing – his hair, making him suspicious about what the “change” Death would make to him was.

That was worrisome, making him unsure about whether his own magic would work.  Or not.  Or just a little.  Which was all somewhat moot as he didn’t have a wand anyway and he only had a few skills in his wandless repertoire.

Don’t get him wrong, they were dead useful skills to have, which was why he’d taken the time and massive effort to learn them wandless: _Epsikey, Tergeo, Stupefy, Allohomora, Accio, and Windgarium Leviosa_ , none of which are necessarily high-level spells but could be learned wandless and even wordless, as he’d done.

The only other magical skills he had that could be done without a wand were his Animagus transformation and a few blood-based rituals he knew for warding that he had to learn to take control of his family properties as well as Grimmauld Place.

That was if using his magic didn’t fry whatever electronics he was around, as since this wasn’t a magical world he was going to, and the year in the distant future, electronics were going to be a fact of life as Death had referenced a new planet, meaning space travel or a human-like society.

Sinking into his meditation to process the migraine-inducing information overload he’d gotten, Harry arched a brow at one of the first things he found: his new skill-set.

Part of being a Hit Wizard was undergoing a course with the muggle military on survivalism, as well as tracking and bringing down targets.  What he’d gotten in exchange for the Cloak was a different set of skills entirely, though not one that was completely alien due to the aforementioned training.  It was what his trainer/mentor for the Hit Wizards called “Ghost Training” and something Harry hadn’t gotten into as he was slotted into the Hit Wizards when they were short “Tanks”, powerhouses that were mostly used to cause shock, awe, and leave a wave of destruction in their wake.  With his magical core, and proven ability to deal damage, making him into a Tank-Class Hit Wizard simply made sense over the other two classes which were Proteus-Class a kind of jack-of-all-trades that filled in the blanks between Tanks and Ghosts, and the Ghost-Class which were the lone-wolves of the Hit Wizards.  Ghosts were able to adapt to any surroundings, survive any terrain or environment, gathering intelligence or taking out threats as needed.

Needless to say, Tanks and Ghosts rarely worked together, mainly backed up by Proteus who were the bulk and the back-bone of the Hit Wizards.

Altogether, Harry would wager that there were only ever a handful of fully-trained Tanks or Ghosts in the ranks at any given time, whereas all the rest were Proteus.

Wave after wave of instinct, skills, and habits flooded his mind as the information Death gave him to ensure he’d survive the first month met and married up with the skill-set he’d bargained for, Harry suddenly just knowing that Pandora was a diverse planet with everything from tropics to deserts meant that he would have to deal with monsoons, frigid cold, and sweltering heat as well as all the health problems those things made, depending on where he landed.  Unless he found a way to easily travel to a more temperate area, none of which he winced as more information slotted home, were supposed to be deserted, with the indigenous population spread all over the planet except in a few uninhabited areas.  Yay.  Uninhabited meant a wildlife population, and his new skills told him how best to stay safe, warm, and fed in a jungle-type environment, giving him a clue about just _which_ biome would be his new home.

Apparently caves were now his friends as long as they weren’t the type to flood during the monsoon season and weren’t already taken by one of the many _many_ apex predators that called Pandora home.

Who knew?

Not Harry before now.

Another piece of information, more of a whisper than a shout, which from what he could tell meant it was unconfirmed info of the whisper/gossip sort, told him that the island was used as, a, Merlin Death was laughing at him, motherfucking _mine_ by the local human invaders.

“Well.”  He murmured as piece by piece his new skills and information settled into place.  “At least now I know why Death promised to change me.  The atmosphere is poison to a human.”  Let alone his Animagus form, which would probably – hopefully – change as well.

…

Feeling muzzy-headed and still fighting off a migraine, Harry knew when he was close to his destination, sensing the motion of the train slowing down.

Standing and shaking his head, he took a deep breath, steeling himself to step out and into a life filled with unknown challenges – save that it was going to be a challenge, Death would’ve have given him the information, the tools and skills he had, if it was going to be an easy coast to easy street.

No, Harry chuckled, somehow a soft, easy life wasn’t ever in the cards for him.

But if he was honest with himself, that sounded boring as shit anyway.

Stretching up onto his toes, he mentally thanked restoration/nutrition potions as well as a late-teens growth spurt that he wasn’t a damn shrimp anymore.  Being stuck at well-below average height and weight for a male of European extraction would’ve sucked, especially undergoing his weapons training and physical combat training to be a Tank.  Granted, even with magical help he didn’t hit the 6’ 3” of his Alpha father or even the 6’ 1” of his godfather, but an even six-foot-flat was a lot better than the 5’ 6” he was when he faced off against Voldemort.

Magic had also helped his eating issue – or rather the involuntary eating disorder he’d gotten from years of sustained and systematic neglect and abuse – which in turn helped him pack on pounds in the form of muscle, even if he’d never be as “smooth” as an Omega was supposed to be.

Omegas no matter the origin – while they could be tall, and if they were male often were due to the double-set of internal sex organs they had, unlike the double-external of female Alphas – were, supposedly, smooth and lithe with more curves than angles.

Harry was none of that.

It started as being nothing but muscle, skin, and bone from his childhood, but even with a specialized diet, exercise, and potions regiment, Harry would still never be the “ideal” Omega physically.

And he was fine with that, since as far as he could tell, he wasn’t an ideal Omega in any other way either.

It was easy enough to guess at a child’s dynamic as they grew, there were some general markers and behaviors for each, but that was only in a “general” setting.  Add in things like abusive/neglectful relatives, manipulative magical guardians, and a megalomaniac and his merry band of murderers out for one’s head, and their behavior wasn’t likely to reflect their dynamic.  Case in point: Harry.

Everyone assumed that the “Savior” would present, naturally, as an Alpha when he turned seventeen and hit his magical majority.  Non-magicals presented at between fourteen and twenty depending on a lot of factors like environment and stress.  But magicals always presented at seventeen.

It sure as shit was a shock to his system – and everyone else’s – when he walked down the stairs on his seventeenth and Moody pegged him as an Omega.

Which also had the handy side benefit of fucking up the bonding contract Dumbledore had arranged before his death that bonded “Alpha” Harry J. Potter to the assumed-Beta Ginevra Weasley.

Ginny proved to be a Beta in the end.

But no one – at least in their right mind – would try and bond a Beta to an Omega.

At least not alone.  In a bonded triad or bonded harem with an Alpha involved, sure.  That worked.  Just not singly, Beta/Omega.

Nope.

Snow-cones-in-hell would happen first, much to Ginny’s fury.

And as the contract was written for an Alpha, Omega Harry had no obligation to fulfill it, no matter how idiotically Ron and his sister tried to coerce him into doing so.

Steadying himself as the train slowed to a stop, the doors cracking open and showing a dense jungle to his right with what appeared to be floating mountains complete with waterfalls descending into mist directly ahead of him.  Thinking a moment, Harry laughed to himself and shifted into his jaguar form.  He was on the larger side for a melenistic jaguar – commonly referred to as a black panther – at six feet long from nose to the base of his tail and thirty inches tall at the shoulder, weighing in at a near-record three hundred and forty pounds.  Crouching low, his sharp cat’s eyes, still the same glowing emerald green, tracked the mountains for a moment and leapt into thin air and landed easily with his claws digging into the bark of one of the massive trees, sliding down to a stop on a wide branch.

A good thing, as no sooner had he landed safely than his body was wracked with searing pain as Death’s “gift” kicked in, changing him from the inside out.  Pain, fiery, sharp, and all-consuming had him letting out the eerie screaming-roar of his cat as he felt himself change and grow.  Six feet in length became eight feet, thirty inches tall became forty, and so on.  Panting, unable to do anything but hiss and give out screaming cries, he was blind to the knowledge that he’d be drawing predators to him of all sorts, though the thought _did_ tingle at the back of his mind as the pain began to ebb away after what could have been mere moments or an eternity.

A thought that was backed up, when thanks to his keen hearing and vision in this form, Harry narrowly avoided an arrow whistling through the air towards him with a disdainful harsh roar that was much rougher and more guttural than any lion.

Leaping high into the trees, he ruffled his coat in disgruntlement once he was safely out of range of the bowman who was stationed somewhere on the southwestern cliffs, his vision barely making out the glowing amber/gold eyes of his hunter.

That answered that.

Even with having a pair of arrows shot at him, he still didn’t know where the bowman was, nor did he catch any sight of him beyond his flying missiles and strange eyes.

So, odds were, that if there were any other hunters – _Na’vi_ his new knowledge whispered - that they were just as good as the archer at remaining undetected.

Good to know.

Thankfully, the wounds that had originally killed him had scabbed over enough that he wasn’t leaving a massive blood trail as he all-but _flew_ through the canopy, easily out-pacing the hunter he heard following him, eventually alighting far upland on one of the floating mountains which were covered with what looked like some kind of strange dragon – _Ikran -_ near what looked like a lake, easily scouting out a cave nearby.

Loping his way into the cave, following a narrow system that was hopefully too small for the massive predators of Pandora to navigate, he eventually came out into a wide chamber that was completely dry save for the pool at one end that was fed by an underground source.  Shifting back, he followed his newfound skills and instincts, searching for any sign of water marks or the growth of mold, fungi, or rot that would suggest that the cavern flooded during the monsoon season.  Not discovering any, he gave a relieved sigh, knowing that at least he would be safe from human dangers in his hideaway, and rolling his head on his shoulders shrugged out of the pack and sword, setting them down on a cluster of raised rock formations near the wall opposite the pool.

Which looking down into, Harry got a second shock following the changes to his cat that he’d noticed in the water, not the least of which was his new size, as well as the new dark blue and purple mottling his coat had taken on, likely to blend in better with the flora of his new home.

His Jag’s coat wasn’t the only part of him that had turned at least partially blue.

He hadn’t noticed it immediately, too focused on finding a safe place to lie low, but his cat’s tail had shifted into a combination of a feline/humanoid hybrid.  His skin was now a dark blue with purple tinges and lighter blue spots and markings, and his hands had only three fingers plus an opposable thumb.  Innate magic had shifted his pants, so that they didn’t cover his bum at all, letting his tail swing behind him in his agitation.  Looking down again after taking several deep breaths, Harry noted the green eyes that were the same shade and color, but in – like his hybrid tail – a face that was distinctly feline with large eyes and prominent canines.  His eyebrows were a dark purple-blue, nearly blending into his skin, and his hair was long – ridiculously long.  The Hit Wizard uniform was much too short in the legs and too large in the shoulders and chest, Harry having gained at least two feet in height but shrinking in breadth, creating the image of a lithe, nearly feminine physique with an elongated waist.

And his feet like his hands were missing a toe…but apparently he now had an opposable thumb-like big toe which would make it very easy to pick things up or grasp a tree barefoot.

Letting out a shuddering breath, Harry shook his head, cursing Death and the deity’s fucked-up sense of humor.

He’d turned him into a blue-cat-person, a Na’vi according to the “information download” he’d been given, or at least something similar.

He was still an Omega for one thing, he could feel it, which since Na’vi didn’t have secondary genders or males capable of carrying and bearing young, made him something of an anomaly.

Harry turned his attention back to his personal safety and securing the cave, well-aware that he would likely have plenty of time to freak the fuck out over his new makeover once he treated his wounds and got some sleep…and figured out something to wear other than clothes that were _not_ made to accommodate a tail or someone eight feet tall.

The cave wasn’t a large enough water source to bathe in, not that he would want to foul his drinking water anyway, and he’d need to test it for safety, but if it was safe or at least treatable, Harry thought he’d found a base to call home while he honed his new skills and adapted to a life lived mostly without magic.

“Maybe now’s the time to try and train up some other wandless spells.”  He told himself as he dug out his potions supply and started sorting his other supplies.

He knew there wouldn’t be food – and Merlin, but he was hungry – but there might be a med kit or other things that he didn’t realize were covered under the “his personal property” clause of his deal.

A nutrition potion – thanks to his paranoia over keeping a full potions stock for emergencies after living on the run for a year – took the edge off his hunger even if it didn’t sate it, allowing him to focus on his job of sorting his stuff out – and then repacking it all over again.

If it wasn’t something useful for his new circumstances as a Na’vi – like the gold, silver, and bronze from his vaults – he stuffed it away in several of the bottomless pouches he’d had in his vaults and put them in the very bottom of his pack.

Semi-useful things – books, excess clothing, etc. – went into another bag on top of the useless items, while the actually of-use supplies went into a variety of the outer pockets of the pack, Harry taking the time to remove the information on the medium while he was at it and repurpose that pocket.

One med kit found, potions taken, and bandages applied, Harry spread out two Hit-Wizard issued all-weather all-terrain sleeping bag, already knowing that he’d need them both to create enough length for his new form.  Even jungles got cold at night, especially high in the air like the floating mountain a couple away from the one that was home to the _Ikran_ rookery.  At least he thought.  Things like distances tended to be a bit different in his Jag form than his human – or well, human/Na’vi hybrid – form.

Lying down, and needing the rest after his transformation and running through the Pandora jungle, Harry started flipping through the information Death had given him in paper-form rather than just shoving it into his head.  The deity probably didn’t want to chance it getting lost in the shuffle.  Good thing, once that pain hit, doing anything but getting to safety had taken a rather large backseat.

Yes, he found he was a new form of Na’vi, and it was – this first time at least – similar to an uncontrolled metamorphmagus transformation.  Once he was in a place with breathable air, he would be able to transform back to human and switch between the two at will.  Since there was apparently a mining settlement within a day’s run from where he’d been dropped.  Same thing with his Jag form.  Death had changed him enough to make him blend and survive, but not enough to erase who he was.

And he’d been right, he _was_ the first male-bearer in Na’vi memory in that form.

The medium was interesting too.

He could – apparently – connect to the Pandoran neural network through the tendrils that were protected and cushioned by his now ass-length hair.

Harry would have to practice his braiding skills.

Notably, his Pandoran-Jag form did _not_ have a neural connection, so he’d have to be in Na’vi form to connect to the Tree of Voices or Tree of Souls or one of the other sites that the Na’vi could use to commune with the living soul of the planet – and the souls of generations of deceased Na’vi.

Wicked.

On top of his potions supply, and the med kit that he thought came from under his bathroom sink, Harry had found several more knives, most of which went into various places on him before the overflow went into his pack, matches, that day’s Daily Prophet (at least it would make starting a fire easier), and other small personal items like his hygiene products, Hit Wizard gear, and other odds and ends.

It wasn’t a supply meant to sustain him forever, that was for sure, and he’d have to hunt first thing in the morning and gather some of the herbs and plants from the jungle that his new information said were good for eating or other things, but all in all…could be worse.

Yeah.

Definitely could be worse.

Though he had to admit…being turned into a Na’vi with little to no warning was definitely at the top of the list of weird things that had ever happened to him…


	2. One

** Pandoran Paradox **

**Chapter One: Hide and Seek**

Looking back, Harry could pinpoint those first moments on Pandora as being the beginning of the universe’s longest running game of hide-and-seek.

That moment when he was spotted in his pained, crying glory as a newly-remade jaguar Animagus by a Warrior of the People.

Harry’s Jag, with its newly-changed size, and purple-blue fur, was as strange to the Na’vi as they were to him, let alone his speed and power, which matched the apex predators of the oversized (to him) planet without being quite as large and bulky.

Silwanin, the eldest daughter of Eytukan, chief of the Omaticaya Clan of the People, was fascinated by the strange creature that had short hair instead of the leathery skin or armor of most animals but fangs and claws to shame a palulukan.

It was strange, and once her shock had worn away, she was saddened that her initial reaction of shooting it to either kill it or drive it away from the Omaticaya lands prevented her from studying it more, which led to the rather inevitable decision she made to seek out its tracks that she might learn of it and bring news of this new hunter of the forest back to her people.

The strange not-palulukan was fast, very fast indeed, and incredibly agile, a tree hunter using its sharp claws to cling onto the bark to climb straight up at times and making leaps that showed in stark relief the muscle hidden under that deceptively-soft skin.

To Silwanin’s shame, she couldn’t keep up, the not-palulukan moving with the swiftness of an Ikran as it darted through the trees.

Dismayed, Silwanin firmed her resolve.

She _would_ find the not-palulukan.

It would simply have to wait for another day.

…

A groggy-but-rested Harry woke the day after his arrival on Pandora to the chirruping cries of the nearby not-dragon – _Ikran/banshee_ his new knowledge told him – rookery.

Waking up enough to drink from another of his dwindling supply of water bottles, he wandered out to the entrance of his cave, which in the clear light of day and with the haze of wounded-exhaustion cleared from his eyes, he realized was lodged into a mountain side that had a glorious view.  Quickly looking down, he noted that his cliff-face home wasn’t located on one of the floating mountains – but it was near them – and overlooked one of the strange pink willows that his new information told him was the _Tree of Souls,_ one of the locations where in his Na’vi form he could connected with sentience of the planet _Eywa_ and the souls of all who came before him on this world.  Pandora was fascinating in that way.

He'd grown up with stories of “Mother Earth” and then “Mother Magic” but he’d never _known_ either to be real.

Eywa _was_ real.

He could feel it in the very air around him, the watchfulness of a wise mother, one who perhaps was a bit curious about this strange new creature that was walking among her own young.

Venturing back into the cave, he set about making his new home a bit more comfortable after a second dig through his belongings, all the while reviewing the information that had been shoved into his brain by Death, mainly focusing on the necessities: drinking water, safe food to eat, predators to avoid.

What he found truly interesting, was that while the Na’vi were Eywa _favored_ children, they weren’t the apex predators of this world, the way man had become on Terra Sol.

No, _that_ distinction belonged to a creature called a Tarouk, which was as close to a Pandoran dragon as he’d ever see, for aerial predators and the _Palulukan/Thanator_ for ground predators.

Eywa, like Terra Sol before being overrun by humanity, was good at keeping all of her children in check, at keeping the delicate balance between predators and prey.

Though since man had come to dig up her trees and kill her children, Harry couldn’t help but wonder how much longer she could remain content to wait and watch.  He hoped it wouldn’t be too late by the time she realized that they weren’t lost children of another mother in need of care.  No.  They were parasites, perhaps the only thing Harry had ever agreed with Tom about, if in retrospect.  He’d seen in beginning in his own world before his last death, that muggles were taking too much too fast and not giving enough back.

Harry found himself selfishly happy that he hadn’t lived long enough on Terra Sol to watch as she died.

He eyed his boots in the corner before deciding against wearing them, knowing that he’d be a much better – and safer – climber without them.  His feet would toughen up soon enough.  Shucking off the shirt he wore to sleep, he eyed his makeshift pants with the hole for his new tail in distaste.  A belt kept them on his hips, and at least they were made of canvas so his leathers weren’t ruined, but they looked silly, barely reaching his shins thanks to his new height.  Leaning down, he sliced them off clean at mid-thigh, much happier with the freedom of movement now that his knees weren’t stuck inside stiff cotton.

Putting the shorn pant-legs away for repurposing later, nimble fingers made quick work of braiding his – _tswin/queue –_ inside a protective sheath of hair, leaving just the ends visible for making the – _bond/tsaheylu_ – that his new knowledge insisted was possible, much like a very complete form of Legilimency that required a neural connection.

Barefoot and in all his purple/blue glory, Harry ventured out into the wilderness of Pandora with a couple of empty canteens slung over his shoulder with an empty sack to gather fruit and his edged weapons tucked here-and-there, though he rather thought that until he gained some serious accuracy in throwing knives and building traps that he’d likely end up doing most of his hunting as Jag rather than in his bipedal Na’vi form.

…

Silwanin left Hometree eager for her patrol.

She hadn’t said a word – not yet, not until she was _sure_ of the creature she’d met – about the strange not-palulukan to the other Omaticaya, not even her father the Olo’eyktan of her clan.

Perhaps it was the curse of her own nature – always wanting to _see_ to _know_ – that made her search out the not-palulukan herself rather than seek the help of her people.  There were far greater trackers than Silwanin, better hunters, it was true.  But inside she feared that they might _kill_ the strange not-palulukan before she had a chance to study it further, to see if it even was something they _should_ kill.  Killing wasn’t something any of the People did easily, but if the warriors or the hunters thought it would protect the Clan they would do so without hesitation.  Perhaps her heart is too soft, like her father said.

Her soft heart made her a bad choice for Olo’eyktan but a good one for Tsahik, as her mother was training both Silwanin and her younger sister Neytiri so that one of them could follow after their mother Mo’at as the wise woman of the People, the Voice of Eywa.

To that end, there were rumors that perhaps one of them should be matched with Tsu’tey, who her father had chosen as his successor from a young age after a vision from Eywa.

All of them being so young, Neytiri and Tsu’tey still too young to be matched, which had to wait until after their joining the Clan as full members after their Iknimaya and Uniltaron ceremonies to choose their Ikran and find their spirit animal.

After a time, Silwanin managed to find the tracks of the not-palulukan once more, tracking them back to where she’d originally lost the strange fur-covered not-palulukan.  Searching, searching, long minutes passed before a scratch mark far above her head gave clue to what she’d missed the day before: the predator (she assumed) had once more gone for higher ground.  Climbing nimbly up onto the branch with the mark, she brushed it gently with her fingers, getting an idea of the length of claw on the animal.  Longer than a nantang but shorter than a palulukan.

Spotting the next mark on a tree a great leap away, she followed the barely-visible trail, that inevitably led her up and up the mountainside, until she came to a shocked halt, all thoughts of following the trail extinguished.

For there on the ground a dozen meters below her, was her target: the not-palulukan, dipping its head in one of the many forest streams to drink.

…

The work of a few hours had water gathered – enough for a few days – and some bright red/purple fruit that were supposed to be safe to eat, as well as a few leaves to wrap meat in while cooking in the coals of a fire, one of the few ways Harry could make an edible meal while without a stove besides some basic soups/stews and roasting on a spit.

Finished with his preliminary gathering, it was time to hunt.

Shifting into his Pandoran-Jag form, he padded to the cliff face, leaping the span downward to land on a wide branch in the jungle below with ease.

For a time, he lost himself in the sheer joy of being free.

Running and leaping and climbing all through the vast Pandoran jungle, startling a group of blue lemur-type creatures here or a fan-lizard there.

But after a while, he set himself to work, first leaping down to the forest floor after several minutes of careful watching and scenting the air to be sure it was safe for him to take a drink from the clear water meters below him.  Deciding it was – or as _safe_ as a wild Pandoran jungle ever got – a quick flex and bunch of muscle had him landing light on his paws on the soft moss bordering the stream, then another look-and-scent had him lowering his head to lap at the water and study the fish he could see swimming past in the rushing water.  A moment of contemplation presided before he decided that he’d rather hunt something more along the lines of the six-legged deer he’d spotted while out on two legs instead of four.

With his skills – former and newly acquired – he could tan the hide of one into something more comfortable to wear in his Na’vi form than his split-backside pants…and that would stick out less in the jungle as well.  As warm as it was, he’d only need a small – _hexapede/yerik –_ to fashion a set of bandage-type shorts with maybe some leftover to turn into thongs for his massive braided queue.

They were lithe and fast, that was true – but a jaguar wasn’t one of the premier apex predators of earth for no reason, and that was before his Pandoran upgrade.

An ambush predator, it would perhaps take him an hour or so to locate, stalk and kill one of the weaker members of a yerik herd from the tree branches.

The sound of soft footfalls caught his attention, as well as the soft breath of surprise that came with them from above his head but he gave no sign that he’d heard what had to be a Na’vi hunter high above his head.

Hopefully, not the same Na’vi hunter who’d shot first and then trailed him the day before.

Harry had no intention of putting Na’vi on his hunting list, very much interested in keeping a live-and-let-live strategy in place until he became better acquainted with Pandora.

Seeing as how he hadn’t heard an arrow nock onto a bow, or the sound of any other weapon being drawn – or shot, thrown, or otherwise launched in his direction – Harry lifted his head in the cautious movement of a predator that had scented trouble, emerald eyes lifting further, up and up to lock on alien gold, waiting to see what the Na’vi would do now that it – her he thought from the little of the biped he could see – had been spotted.

…

Silwannin sucked in a startled breath as she caught sight anew of those strange green eyes, a single set deep green iris with a slit-pupil that was as alien to anything of Pandora as the wound the Skypeople had dug into Eywa.

Never in her years had Silwannin seen a creature of the Great Mother with only on set of eyes other than the People and the Skypeople either in their soft pink forms or as Dream-walkers.

It was a strange and beautiful creature to be sure with its green eyes and purple-blue coat that favored rosettes over stripes, but even enchanted by its unique beauty Silwannin was not unaware of the inherent danger present in its form.

Half the size – give or take –  both in height and length of an adult palulukan, it was still much larger than any nantang though the nantang had the closest color of eyes of any animal she could think of to the rich deep green of the not-palulukan, with fangs and claws more in line with the larger predator than the pack hunter, its long tail and so far solitary nature making her think that whatever the type of creature the non-palulukan was, it _was_ in fact closer to the dry-mouth bringer of fear than the pack hunter.

Which made the calm way this one was watching her either a sign that it was more peaceful a creature than the palulukan – perhaps one that did not feed on the People – or that she was in much more trouble than she’d bargained for when setting out to track it.

Harry snorted, startling his watcher, before leaping up to a distant branch on the other side of the stream from his watch and bounding away, scenting for the yerik herd he’d spotted earlier and paying his watcher no more mind.

She wasn’t in any hurry to hurt him, so for the moment he would let her be, avoiding shifting back until he’d well and truly lost her, which he did with ease as Silwannin was stuck for long moments in shock at the blatant show of unconcern the not-palulukan had treated her presence with – though whether he, and she was certain now it was a male of its kind, would react the same if she’d had a weapon in hand remained to be seen.

Deciding to leave the not-palulukan to his hunt and return to her own duties, which would by necessity include a report to her father of the creature, Silwannin had the perfect name for the creature come to mind after she watched it take down a yerik with ease before she took her leave: _tsin’eko_ , the claw attacker, for how he had pounced and pierced with his claws first to bring down an elderly yerik before finishing it with a powerful bite to the skull.  Watching it hunt gave her a strong sense of both respect and unease.  The tsin’eko’s jaws had punctured the yerik’s skull with a single fierce bite, strong enough to pierce the strong bones of all Eywa’s children.

Now _that_ , indeed, was something the People needed to be aware of…

…

Glad that his watcher had gone away after his hunt, Harry drug his kill up a tree before shifting back into his Na’vi form to pack it back to his cave.

With his knowledge, he had many uses for everything from its entrails and bones to the meat and hide, even if it was just bait for a trap.

Somehow he knew however, that she wasn’t going to be the last of his watchers, necessitating caution whenever he shifted between forms and a constant awareness of whatever tracks and sign of his presence – both jag and Na’vi – he left behind for the other Na’vi to find.

Ideas brewing of how to go back and cover or completely remove any tracks that led to his home, Harry passed the jaunt back to his mountain with half his mind on his surroundings and the other half making plans and contingencies.

Because if there was one thing the wars had taught him, it was the value of _just in case_ …

…

It was days before the next round began, Harry having had enough meat – and enough work to do with processing the yerik and turning it into useful things, a water skin from the cleaned stomach, hide for his new shorts, thongs for his hair, bone cleaned and left to dry before fashioning into whatever he might need, etc.  Tanning, even with his magic and skills to speed up the process a bit, still took days before he had a workable pelt, though a large part of that was letting the hide dry or soak in the solution he made.  And with pounds and pounds of meat and innards to either cook, set aside for bait, or preserve Harry had more than enough work on his hands to keep him busy and out of the jungle.

The hide made a pretty leather with some blue and green stipes on a dark grey background, and together with some of the sinew he’d prepared, and a needle carved from bone, Harry was in business to make his first set of shorts which had become a priority as he became more and more uncomfortable in his single pair of split-back pants and resistant to the idea of ruining any of his other clothes that he might need if he ever decided to venture into the mining camp.

Though he was happy to find that with a little adjusting to fit his new, lither Na’vi frame, his armored vests made for a good, lightweight top.

And made from basilisk hide, there wasn’t a much better armor that he could ask for on a planet where everything wanted to kill him from the smallest of insects – which weren’t all that small – to the largest of predators, as well as several types of local carnivorous flora…or even just those that had lethal or near-lethal defense mechanisms.

Round Three – as Harry eventually started keeping count – of hide-and-seek or find-the-jag, between his Jag form and the local Na’vi began when Harry got tired of eating dried yerik meat and the fibrous (and filling) leaves from what his new knowledge told him was called _tìhawnuwll/Spartan plant_.

Harry wanted fruit, and his Death-given knowledge provided just the thing: a species called Banana fruit or _utumauti_ that grew high in the canopy of the jungle and was therefore highly prized by the Na’vi for the difficulty in collecting it.

Which given Harry’s well-proven taste for anything resembling an adrenaline rush, sounded like just the ticket to break his current monotony.

He was loving learning and assimilating all his new knowledge, and Pandora was truly beautiful with wonders that never seemed to end.

But Harry was a creature that needed action, and while idle hands may be the devil’s workshop, in Harry’s case it was more a problem of an idle mind leading him into things that he really shouldn’t be able to survive.

Traversing the treetops was as easy as padding along the forest floor to Harry’s jaguar, even with the recent upgrade in size, and before long he found a cache of banana fruit.  Eyeing the delicate area surrounding him, Harry stretched out on a nearby branch, hugging his belly to the sturdier tree, and reached out to bat the fruit down, intending to harvest them once he’d finished his work.

Unbeknownst to Harry, his never-before-seen-on-Pandora actions had an audience of three…

…

Silwannin had reported the strange tsin’eko to her father as planned, though her mother the Tsahik had been unsurprised by her news.

Mo’at more than anyone was ever-aware of changes to their Mother, and this new creature was one which the Mother was watching with a sense of joy and fascination.  It was different from Her other children, and yet it behaved in ways that were all at once strange and familiar.  That it was dangerous went without saying, as most things of Eywa’s make were dangerous.

But with Silwannin’s report, Mo’at was willing to soothe the mind of her mate that perhaps this tsin’eko wasn’t dangerous _to them_.

Still, Eytukan had never been the type of leader to make uninformed judgements, preferring to see the truth of things for himself if possible, and as such after many days of debate within the clan, he set out with one of a group of searchers to perhaps find the hunting grounds of the tsin’eko and learn more of it.  Many groups were sent out, some near to both locations where his daughter saw it, others further afield.  With Eytukan came his daughter Silwannin and his student and protégé Tsu’tey as they searched a section of their forest home that was known to be feeding grounds for many of the prey species, and as such, also doubling as excellent hunting grounds for both _nantang_ and _palulukan_.

Perhaps, Eytukan decided, such a place would be a wise start to search for the strange _tsin’eko_.

Though he readily admitted that he hadn’t expected to find much, if anything, in an area far from where the _tsin’eko_ had been spotted previously, he wasn’t disenheartened when it appeared their beginning search was for naught…right up until Tsu’tey was smacked on the head by a falling _utumauti_ , drawing three pairs of eyes up, up and up to the top of the canopy, and the blue-purple creature that was the originator behind Tsu’tey’s hissed out breath and the forming knot on the top of his head.

“ _Look_ ,” Silwannin pointed with one long finger as Tsu’tey eyed the small pile of _utumauti_ on the forest floor with greedy eyes.  “ _See.  It is different than others…strange.”_

 _“Yes,_ ” Eytukan readily agreed, a bit dumbfounded by the sheer cleverness of the creature who was still batting at the fruit above them, making another few fall to the ground.  _“It has fur like the eanean plant…and yet it is large and fearsome like a nantang or palulukan.  Very odd.”_

Tsu’tey simply watched and observed as was his duty.  He was young still, and knew it, learning all he could before it became his time to step forward and lead the Omaticaya.  But to him, while he could have done without the knock to his head, he found the strange creature beautiful…and somehow familiar.  But it wasn’t a familiarity from seeing anything like it before in the flesh…  It was a puzzle, and one that he would try and decipher when the _tsin’eko_ wasn’t eyeing them from up high with big green eyes.

He went to draw his bow, only to see the _tsin’eko_ hunch down as if prepared to pounce, an action that the strange creature aborted as soon as Eytukan pressed his bow down firmly with one hand, his chief’s golden eyes locked on the form of the creature as it eyed them in turn.

It turned away from them, clearly eyeing the fruit on the forest floor, before showing off with a massive leap, bounding from one tree to another until its paw were firmly upon the ground.  Staring up at them, it snorted once as Silwannin had told them around the fires of Hometree, before setting to work gathering as many of the fruit it could within its jaws before bounding away.

“Silwannin.”  Eytukan gave the order without another word, his hunter daughter darting away to try and track the strange creature as the chief turned to his apprentice.  “Tsu’tey.”  Eytukan stared at him with a bit of disappointment clear in his eyes.  “ _That is an intelligent creature.  It knows weapons.  And yet it did us no harm.  Instead,”_ Eytukan waved his hand towards the _utumauti_ on the forest floor.  _“It has shared its bounty with us.  I will give the order at Hometree but tell you now: the tsin’eko is wise, and not to be harmed unless it attacks first.”_

“ _Yes, Olo’eyktan”_ Tsu’tey bobbed his head then followed his leader down to the forest floor to collect the bounty the creature had shared with them.

Great good luck this day, he thought.  They met a new creature who was both fierce and wise.  And gathered _utumauti_ to share with their People.

Yes, it had been a day of great good luck.


End file.
